Chapter 17 The Password to Larkspur Lane by Carolyn Kee
Recess
Nancy was aglow with concern. She believed she had at last found the place where Dr. Spires had been taken.
“I must find an excuse for entering this place.”
“But Nancy, what could we find out at this hour?”
“I am sure we could learn plenty if we could only get in.”
“And maybe never get out, like that poor Mrs. Eldridge,” suggested Helen nervously, shaking her head. “No, Nancy,” she concluded, “not this time. Let’s come again.”
“Oh, Helen,” cried Nancy in dismay, “you wouldn’t want to desert me now, would you?”
“Desert you!” gasped Helen, seizing her chum’s hand affectionately.
“Well, it rather sounded as if you had that in mind,” retorted her chum.
“No, I won’t leave you, but neither will I let you stay.”
“But Helen,” sighed Nancy, “I have thought so much about finding out about this place, I just can’t leave at the very beginning of a lot of important work.”
“Of course you can,” smiled Helen. “Tomorrow we shall have the whole day before us. Besides, we have promised to attend the big dance tonight. We’ll keep everyone waiting if we don’t start for my home at once.”
Nancy wavered. She stared at her wrist watch. “It is late,” she murmured softly.
Without further argument she turned back toward her hidden roadster, deep in thoughts of the search she planned for the morrow. Together the girls retraced their steps through the woods, noting their surroundings carefully.
Making sure that the narrow road was clear, Nancy turned her automobile into it and then sped toward the highway. Carefully she turned into the main road, and had gone only about a hundred yards, when suddenly a car appeared racing toward them. Nancy instinctively slackened her speed and lifted her left elbow to the window ledge, covering most of her face with her hand.
To the driver of the approaching car it appeared as if the two girls in the expensive new roadster were driving aimlessly at a mere twenty-five miles an hour. He gave them a sharp glance, however, as he whizzed by. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat.
“That is one of the scoundrels!” she said to Helen. “Don’t look back.”
“Goodness gracious!” Helen cried. “How do you know?”
“He is the man who followed me in my other car, and threatened us after Dr. Spires had told us about his strange ride,” Nancy explained. “My father knows him. He is Adam Thorne, a disbarred lawyer. He ran away after he was accused of stealing all the assets of an estate put under his care. I know the car, too, although the license plates have been changed and the top lowered. That is the automobile in which Dr. Spires was taken blindfolded for his ride.”
Nancy followed the touring car with her eye. The lawyer reached the narrow road which led to Larkspur Lane and turned in without hesitation.
“That definitely connects him with this place,” cried Nancy triumphantly. “The net is being drawn closer.”
“It also means he knows the password,” added Helen.
The remainder of the ride to Sylvan Lake was without further adventure, and at seven o’clock the girls, tired and dusty, mounted the steps of the Corning home, ravenously hungry.
“You are late,” Mrs. Corning said. “We are having dinner early on account of the dance.”
“Then we will just wash our faces and hands and dress up later,” Helen replied.
Nancy, apologizing to her hostess for having delayed the meal, hurriedly brushed her hair.
As soon as dinner was over, the girls dashed into their rooms to dress. Nancy bathed while Helen curled her hair.
“You are lucky to have such a nice, natural wave,” the latter said, admiring her chum.
Nancy laughed. “I doubt if Adam Thorne likes anything about it.”
“I just hated the looks of that man. Let’s think about something pleasant.”
The girls accordingly enjoyed themselves by admiring each other’s dainty lingerie, choosing the stockings which would best match slippers and frocks, and so for a time forgot the mystery. Helen was in ecstasies over Nancy’s powder blue evening gown, which made her look like a quaint little princess. Nancy was as sincerely complimentary of Helen’s rose-colored frock with its deep yoke and bertha of hand-made lace.
“In other words, we are going to be the belles of the ball,” Helen laughed.
Mrs. Corning knocked at the door to announce the arrival of the girls’ escorts. Ned Nickerson and Buck Rodman, deeply tanned, were dapper in their white flannels and blue coats.
“My, you surely look beautiful,” Buck gulped as the girls appeared arm in arm.
“I see where we get cut in on half a minute after each dance begins,” Ned groaned. “Nancy, promise me at least two whole dances.”
“I promise,” she laughed.
The four friends started for the Yacht Club a few hundred yards distant, its gayly lighted porch and lawn visible through the pines. It was a gay scene which the quartet approached.
“Doesn’t it look attractive?” asked Ned.
“It certainly does,” agreed Nancy.
“I feel just like dancing,” announced Buck, doing a few fancy steps.
Helen laughed at his capers. “I hope you don’t trip,” she teased.
“Nothing like that, young lady. There is a time and a place for a trip, but that is not here. I’ve come to stay!”
An orchestra of college youths was doing its best with violins, banjos, drums, and saxophones.
As Ned had prophesied, he and Nancy had scarcely encircled the floor before two young men made a dash for the couple. The winner of the race tapped Ned on the shoulder.
“May I cut in, please?”
“You pirate,” Ned snorted. Then, recovering himself, he said graciously: “Nancy, may I present Mr. Hopkins?”
He then withdrew to the side lines with the purpose of recapturing Nancy at the first opportunity.
The night was cool, the music was beautiful, and Nancy enjoyed herself thoroughly. At eleven o’clock the orchestra struck up a march, and the couples lined up for supper, which was served on several of the members’ yachts moored to the club dock. The boats’ masts were strung with pennants and Chinese lanterns. As the craft rocked at their moorings, the gay throng swarmed over deck and through cabin, looking for places where they might sit down.
Ned led Nancy to the bow of the flagship, where they might have some measure of privacy while enjoying the food.
“It’s a grand night,” Nancy said, gazing at the stars.
“You bet,” agreed Ned. “I guess it will be clear tomorrow.”
Nancy was thinking of her plan for the next day. Driving out to Larkspur Lane required pleasant weather.
“Some affair,” continued Ned, counting the lanterns between bites of cake.
“It is a gloriously successful party,” Nancy remarked. “The music is unusually good.”
“Pretty good considering,” Ned grinned. “The tenor saxophone and the trap drummer are from State and the rest of the bunch from Emerson, so it won’t surprise me if there might be some discord before the evening is over.”
Ned was very much interested in what Nancy was doing these days, and she told him a few points about the mystery which was engaging her attention. Before the evening was over, she went into some detail over the discovery of the house among the larkspurs that afternoon, concluding her story with her announced determination of exploring the grounds.
“Oh, Nancy, please be careful,” Ned pleaded. “You don’t know what risks you are taking. The gang is so desperately determined to keep its hide-outs and communications secret, that it proves the men will stop at nothing to prevent exposure.”
“Ned, you know very well I can take excellent care of myself,” Nancy chided. “I don’t say, though, that I can do it all single-handed. I may have to call on you for help. I certainly shall not let all that I have learned about the criminals go to waste.”
“Let me go with you when you explore the grounds of this floral den,” Ned urged. “I can get away from the camp easily enough.”
“You may be of greater help in the reserve line of attack, as they say in the army,” Nancy replied.
“Anything you ask me to do shall be done, you know that,” Ned assured her earnestly. “Only take good care of yourself. If anything were to happen to you——”
The youth clenched his hands and looked stern. As Nancy regarded his splendid physique, she mentally pitied anyone who challenged Ned Nickerson to a fight.
A Paul Jones was just then announced from the porch of the club. From that time until the band played “Home, Sweet Home,” there was a continuous round of merriment.
“Having a good time?” called Buck to Nancy on one occasion.
“I certainly am.”
“I am going to have the clocks turned back,” declared Buck.
There was a general laugh at this remark.
“I believe Buck would dance all night,” exclaimed Helen.
Later, good nights were exchanged. Nancy and Helen, tired but happy, tumbled into their beds, to fall instantly asleep after a most enjoyable evening.
They awoke next morning to find the sun high in the sky, long past the normal breakfast hour.
“I had a weird dream last night, Helen,” laughed Nancy.
“Too much party?”
“Well, I dreamed I had to solve the secret of a strange password in order to get into a private dance at a lunatic asylum.”
“Nancy Drew, what a dream!” laughed her chum.
Just then the cook appeared.
“Miss Helen, de missus done tole me to let you gals sleep,” she grinned. “She an’ de master, dey done gone fo’ de day. Dey say dey be back after supper, but on no ’count to break yo’ slumbers, c’ase yo’ wore out yo’ shoes last night.”
The luxury of breakfast in bed was accorded Helen and Nancy by the genial black cook, and over cocoa, rolls, and fluffy scrambled eggs, Nancy pondered over what use to make of the day. She had a plan in her mind which she hoped to work out. Mr. and Mrs. Corning were not there to be consulted. Would her hosts object to it?
Perhaps—perhaps not. However——
“Helen,” Nancy asked, “are you ready for a real adventure?”